Because We're Greasers
by Blood Russian
Summary: It was starting again. I've only been out four weeks and you're already dragging your crap back up my road. You really want me to kill someone. I wonder why you can' use your head by now you should know better by now. But we're greasers, who cares?
1. Chapter 1

**It was starting again. I've only been out four weeks and you're already dragging your shit back up my road. You really want me to kill someone. I wonder why you can' use your fucking head by now you should know better by now. But we're greasers, who cares?**

**Because We're Greasers**

_"A friend is someone who is there for you when he'd rather be anywhere else."_

_-Len Wein_

It's fucking starting again. I've only been out four weeks and you're already dragging your shit back up my road. You really want me to kill someone, huh? I wonder why you can' use your fucking head by now, you should know better by at least. I should too, but we're greasers what do we care? So now I'm stuck here with you. Alone, fucking shit.

So now I have to look at you as you stand in the God damn forsaken doorway. I should have noticed when you didn't slam the door; I just listened as it slid across the floor, the hinges groaning. Your steps were so soft I could barely hear them as you walked in. I knew you were there but you hadn't said anything, I didn't honestly care. But then you drew in air, I heard that familiar shake in your gasp. I could feel the dread seeking in, fucking God. I looked up, the same words repeating in my head.

_Fucking God. _

You're covered in it. All I can see is red; you look as if you bathed in it.

What the hell happened to you?

_Fucking God. _

You're still standing and I just staring. God, I'm an ass. What the hell am I supposed to do? Darry just fucking left not even five minutes ago, why did you have to stick me with this? You look up for the first time; my breath gets stuck in my throat.

I know those eyes.

_Fucking God._

You tremble as you take a step forward and sail towards the ground. I catch you; it's a blessing because as I grip you as carefully as I can, your screams send a ringing in my years.

My blood boils and burns, yours just keeps pouring out.

You sake violently on that old worn grey couch, I wish I knew what to do. I leave you there, shaking and dry heaving. I have to find that God damn kit your brother had to patch us up, I rummaging through the cabinets when I hear you groan loudly. I nearly bang my head on that fucking drawer I left open. By some damn luck I find it.

When I get back and kneel beside you you're still shaking. I wish I could be anywhere else than fucking here, but I still here with you. I can't help but look at you, you don't look like yourself. Your face is all banged up; it's going to take months to heal. At least your last state visit was two weeks ago, you don't have to worry about them for awhile. You open your eyes, there wide and still filled with fear.

Why was God so fucking cruel? You didn't deserve this, hell already struck you once.

I get the peroxide and poor it on the rag; its wetness spreads to my fingers. My nose burns, I'm sure yours does too. I dab slowly at the slice on your lower left cheek, I don't think it will scar. I'm not sure what to do; I've never done for anybody else. Except maybe for Johnny, I can't really remember. I'm just trying to forget.

You flinch as I clean up your dirt and blood covered face. I wish you'd stop. There's a blood stain forming on you light blue shirt, its spreading. Fuck. I have to lift you up and take off your shirt. You whine and I resist the urge to tell you to shut the hell up. It's not deep but it bleeding more than the rest, so I have to pour the peroxide in the cap and dump it on the wound. Your back arches up and I nearly fall over as you lean slowly back down on the couch.

It bubbles, but I doubt you notice. I get rest on your stomach as I cover you in bandages; I hope we don't run out. When I'm done I move down to your legs, there're not so bad. Just a few scrapes and shallow cuts from where you might have fallen, nothing permanent would be left.

So you lay there in only your underwear, still groaning from the left over pain and all I can do is sit there and watch. I look back up to your face, your staring at me. Your eyes are barley open but I can see dull glimmering look in your green eyes, the gray seemed to be more present. It was the first time I had noticed since you had gotten here, the glistening slivers surrounding in your eyes and pooling out onto your bottom eyelids.

My own eyes burned and I couldn't seem to find my breath. Why the heck did I have to be here? Where did fuck did Soda go that was so damn important? I shouldn't be the one taking care of you, I don't know how. God, why couldn't you learn to use your fucking head once in awhile?

You're still staring and for some reason I can't seem to move. I hear your voice, its barley even a whisper but I still manage to catch it somehow.

"Dally?" Damn, you sound terrible.

"Yeah, kid?"

You don't say anything for awhile and I don't mind. I not sure what to say either, but when you do I can't breathe. Fuck kid, give a little warning.

"Thank you." It's only to words but you make them see like an ancient code somebody's trying to crack. I barely reregistered what you say and my heart is pounding again. I wonder if you can hear it. There's a tug in my chest, I shouldn't have eaten that fucking burger Two-Bit made.

I have no way to coolly respond to that, fuck kid. Why the hell are you doing this to me?

"Alright, kid."

It's the only thing I can say before the front door slams and I hear Darry yell he's back and that if I was going to stay here I could get off my ass and help out.

You flinch and I can see the fear rush back into your eyes. God, I'm going to beat the shit out of the Socs who did this to you.


	2. Chapter 2

**It was starting again. I've only been out four weeks and you're already dragging your shit back up my road. You really want me to kill someone. I wonder why you can't' use your fucking head by now you should know better by now. But we're greasers, so who cares?**

**Because We're Greasers**

_The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing... not healing, not curing... that is a friend who cares.  
__-__Henri Nouwen_

Everyone's being so careful aroundyou, hell, even I am. I know this sounds fucking crazy but to tell you the truth, you scare me. You're not the same, there's a look in our eyes that shouldn't be there. A look that Johnny had in the back of his eyes, a look I'd only seen it once. The last time Johnny opened his eyes.

Kid, it scares the shit out of me.

You had passed out the minute Darry walked into the room, he freaked when he saw you. He asked so many fucking questions and I didn't know how to answer them. Hell kid, do you see what you did? You didn't wake up until Soda and Steve came back. Soda nearly had a damn heart attack when he saw you there all messed up on the couch. Two-Bit's usual grin was gone, a mad look clouded over his eyes. He looked as if he was about to fucking blow. And for a guy who doesn't seem to care for you much, Steve sure did shake with anger.

You woke scared and trashing widely about, you got worse when Darry tried to calm you down. Soda tried to hug you as you tried fighting off Darry but that ended up in you just kicking him in the gut. I think Soda was about to cry after that. I don't think anyone of have seen you like this. It's just not natural.

That's how we got here, you sitting on the couch avoiding everyone's stares and just barley mumbling out any answers at all.

"Pony, please." Soda was pleading now; I don't think I've ever seen him like his before. "Please, just tell us what happened."

You know what the worst part is, Kid? Every time you're asked a damn question all you do is just look up at me. What am I suppose to do? The gangs noticed already, too. They keep on sending me questioning stares; I just keep on looking at you to avoid them. I think Steve's 'bout to blow, the shaking in his hands seems to become more violent by the second.

Guess I was right.

Steve grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you roughly, an erratic look in his eyes. My chest burns, damn it Two-Bit.

"Damn it, kid!" Steve yelled at you, his swirls falling from place. "Get over yourself and tell us what happened!"

"Steve, stop it!" Soda hollered and tore him off you. You were shaking again and mumbling to yourself huddled up squeezing your eyes shut.

"No, please…" Your voice is too high when you talk and voice trembles down to a murmur no one can hear. "Stop, please!"

Soda and Two-Bit are hauling Steve outside when you start dry heaving again and before I can look up Darry's in front of you with a glass of water, your fingers twitch nervously and your eyes are wide again as you reach for it. I can hear Darry talking to you; his voice is soft enough to be a whisper. Golly, Kid.

"It's alright, Ponyboy." He's still in kneeing in front of you and for some reason I feel strange staring at the two of you, like I'm intruding on a private moment so I look away. "It's going to be fine."

The last part's a whisper and I swear I see somethin' clear running down your brothers' cheek. I'm sure it just the slight rain from outside.

The house is quiet; I'm sleeping on the couch tonight. Two-Bit and Steve have gone home earlier than usual, you seemed relieved when you watched them walk out the door. There's not a sound to be heard, not even the creaking and shifting of beds. It's a bit nerve racking, I'm still not use to the quietness of your house. I've been sleepin' over at Bucks for too long.

There's a light groan of a door in the hall, light steps follow after. Probably just Soda taking a leak, it's the first thing that comes to mind. I guess I'm wrong again. It's you, just standing there in front of the couches arm rest. I can barely see you, only a dark outline can be seen from the moons sliver of light from the window. God kid, give a guy a heart attack would ya?

"Dal," Your voice is nothing but a low hoarse whisper but it still manages to breaks a crack in the looming darkness. "You still up?"

"Yeah, kid." I tell you and I swear I hear you sigh in relief. God, I need some sleep. "I'm still up."

There's a shuffling sound coming in my direction and there's an added weight settling down on the edge of the middle cushion. Your body heat wafts its way to my stomach, in some way it doesn't feel too bad. Man, I'm turning into such a sap.

"You 'right Pony?" I ask you and there's a sharp take of breath from your way.

"Dally, I don't," You stop midsentence, your voice cracked and for some reason I knew what was about to happen.

You whimper quietly and I sit up, why do you keep doing this to me Pony? "Hey, Pony. Calm down."

It doesn't help. You just keep getting louder, if this keeps up Darry and Soda are going to come in and bust my ass. So I do the only thing that comes to mind, my arms find their way around your back and I shakily pull you up to my chest. You clench my thin white under shirt tightly and I can feel your tears soaking through it but your sobs quiet down. There's something familiar about this, you know, me holding you. If I search for it I can see the blurry image of Johnny's big black eyes looking up at me as a run a hand through his hair.

There's warmth spreading in my chest, it doesn't burn like before this time. I settle my chin on you fluffy bed ridden head, my eyes are drooping maybe I'll finally get some sleep tonight. I settle against the couch, you're passed out on my chest and for the first time I noticed something different about you. There's no longer pain in you facial features or the look of fear haunting you, just peace settled deep into every line of your pillow wrinkled face.

I set you down on the couch and head for the door.

Yeah, maybe I'll get some sleep tonight.


End file.
